The Sorrow in the Soccer
by super ario
Summary: "-I'm not crying. I've just got some barbecue sauce in my eye."


_I don't know about you guys but I've suddenly discovered a hidden love of soccer during this year's World Cup. I was very disappointed these last two games that Brazil played because I was rooting for them all the way. But watching this last game between them and the Netherlands for third inspired me to write something for this fandom, as I have been itching to write something again for the past two or three days. I've gone through all of my old fics and wondered why I've never finished them. This is my slow reintegration into the fanfic community. I got kind of lazy at the end so I apologize, otherwise I would have kept it going. But as it turns out I don't have too much of a muse yet. I'm working on it. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this little dingy. It's supposed to be humorous. _

_What team are you rooting for?_

Disclaimer:_ Did you forget this was fanfiction?_

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><p>"Are you <em>crying<em>?"

It takes everything in him to hold back the sob attempting to escape the confines of his lungs. It's pretty damn obvious that he _is_ crying. After all, the drips of liquid streaking his cheeks couldn't have just appeared out of nowhere. But still, he's embarrassed, so he bites his lip and shakes his head and pretends that he isn't just for the sake of pretending that he isn't. It's what Booth would do.

"Oh my god. You _are _crying."

"Sweetie!" Angela whines with motherly concern, though there's a hint of amusement in her expression as she swivels in her barstool and takes a look back at him. Of course it'd be natural for her to worry when one of her friends and colleagues erupts into a puddle of tears, but she's fairly certain she knows the cause for this and, even to her, it's somewhat humorous. Her husband beside her doesn't bother holding back the laughter that she tries so hard to keep inside. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not crying," Sweets sniffles, wiping his face with the back of his arm. The tears that he brushes away are replaced instantly with new ones. They leak from the dark brown pools of his eyes and slowly scale down the cascades of his cheeks. He quickly wipes at them again. He repeats, "I'm not crying."

"Well, it's certainly not _raining_, Sweetie."

Hodgins hollers with laughter. "Dude, are you seriously crying because of this? C'mon, Sweets. It's just a game!"

It's not _just _a _game_, he wants to say. The World Cup is never _just_ a _game_. And never mind the fact that he's never been much of the sporty type. Really, the most physical thing he did growing up was flipping the pages of psychology textbooks. Well, that and running from bullies. The latter counted more as a sport than the first but that's beside the point. Though he'd never really been too fond of playing nor watching people play with balls of any sort, he'd been a closet fanatic of soccer for years. His adoptive father had been an avid watcher of games and young Lance had found that he'd enjoyed sitting there watching the games with him. Not so much because of the love of the sport but because the love of his father and the urge to spend as much time with him as he could. Somewhere down the road he'd found himself getting into the game just as much as his adoptive father, if not even more so. With the busy life he leads now, he usually doesn't get around to watching many games but he tries to follow news of the teams as best as he can. He's managed to DVR and watch every game thus far in the season but finally he's gotten around to relaxing with friends and watching the game live, at the bar. So it's to his great disappointment when Germany plays against one of his all time favorite teams, Brazil, in the World Cup the summer of 2014...and wins by a long shot.

When he had been a few years younger and had attempted to track down his biological mother—his attempt at finding answers to the questions he knew that he must have had, though at the time he hadn't been too sure what those questions were—he'd found that she had been working the psychic scene somewhere down in south Florida. Her name was Valeria de Souza and she was of Brazilian descent. He'd been intrigued when he'd found this out because beforehand he'd known very little about any part of his life before his adoption. Though he'd never expected to be of any exotic heritage (with skin as pale as his? please!), he had been pleased to have that information with him. Pleased to know a little more about himself in the process. Since then, the Brazilian soccer team had kept a special place in his heart. Which made it that much more humiliating when they lost to Germany, 7-1.

"I told you, I'm not crying. I've just got some barbecue sauce in my eye."

"Dude, you are totally crying."

Angela struggles to keep the laugh building inside of her, reaches over and places one of her hands over his. She gives it a little squeeze. "It's alright, Sweets. Don't listen to Hodgins. It's okay to be upset."

The psychologist wipes his face again with his free hand and Hodgins laughs at the scene. Sweets looks so young and so dejected in his _Brasil_ shirt and beanie. It's a wonder how he can even manage to wear the thing on his head as it's got to be about 80 plus degrees outside. He'd known that Sweets had been going for Brazil to win the game, had even betted with the other guys about it, but he'd never expected the cup to mean this much to the younger. Hodgins can't help but laugh again, though at the look that he gets from his wife, he sighs and gives Sweets' shoulder a little comforting squeeze as well.

"Yeah, hey, man. I was just messing with you. Don't cry. Brazil's still gonna play again, anyway, remember? They still have a chance for third place. Don't lose hope."

"Don't lose hope," he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. "Don't lose hope. That's easy for you to say. You're for the Netherlands anyway. Who cares about third place? Nothing matters if you don't get the cup. Do you know how embarrassing this is? And in their own host country, too?! I can't even..." Eyes still watery, he pulls the green beanie from his head and throws it down against the counter in weak fury, his curly hair messily matted down against his head. "If only Neymar had been playing! The entire team's spirits are down. It's not fair!"

"Sweetie..."

Hodgins pulls his hand away from Sweets' shoulder and sighs again. "Look, man...I'm sorry to say this when I know you're upset but Brazil probably wouldn't have won even if Neymar had been playing. You wanna know why?" At Sweets' glare, he continues, "It's because they're not a good team. And, again, I'm sorry to say that-" here, he holds his hands up as if in surrender, "but it's the truth. There are plenty of teams out there that play harder and better than the Brazilians do. And, yeah, I know it sucks that they didn't win because I know you had your heart set out on this and all, but Brazil kind of sucks, Neymar or not. You might as well join the orange side and root for Hollandia with us. Even Michael's for the Netherlands and he's not even in preschool yet. It doesn't take much to see that they're a much better team."

Angela wants to step in before this turns into a big argument but Sweets responds before she can even open her mouth, before she can even shoot Hodgins a tired look that says "really? you had to go there?".

"Brazil isn't a bad team! They just didn't play that well this one time. Just because they might have played a little worse than they usually do doesn't mean that they suck. You know the Netherlands hasn't won every game that they've played, either."

"Yeah, but look what they did to Spain! They totally demolished them. I think they have it in them to win the entire tournament. They deserve that. They're a _good_ team."

"Boys, please-" Angela groans, smacking Hodgins on the side of the arm gently. "Enough. No fighting."

"We're not fighting, Angie. We're just having a friendly little conversation about sports. It's what men do. You know...when they're not _crying_..."

Sweets frowns. "I'm not crying."

"Jack," Angela says in exasperation. "Please. Do you mind not being a butthead for like one second?"

Hodgins has to laugh again.

"Don't worry, Sweetie. I think Brazil is a good team, okay?" the artist consoles the youngest, hand still squeezing his comfortingly. "And even if they can't win the World Cup, they're still gonna play for the third place medals. That's a really amazing thing, that out of all of those teams that started off playing, they have the chance to make third. That's a great accomplishment, and you know what? They've only gotten this far because of people like you. Because of their fans. And they're gonna need you to keep supporting them after this loss. They're gonna need you guys now more than ever, okay? So don't lose hope, like Hodgins said. It's not the end of the world. You've gotta show them that you're still proud of what they've accomplished so far. How else are they gonna take third without your support, huh?"

Sweets is quiet for a moment, then smiles. "You're right, Angela. Thank you for that."

"No problem, Sweetie," she says, patting his hand and then releasing it.

"Hashtag Vai Brasil!"

"Yeah, Vai Brasil!"

"Vai _Hollandia_!"

A sigh. "Hodgins!"


End file.
